Book and Life
Books are to mankind what memory is to the individual.They contain the
history of our race, the discoveries we have made, the accumulated knowledge and
experience of ages;they picture for us the miracles and beauties of nature, help
us in our difficulties,comfort us in sorrow and in suffering, change hours of
weariness into moments of delight,store our minds with ideas, fill them with
good and happy thoughts, and lift us out of and above ourselves.Many of those
who have had, as we say, all that this world can give,have yet told us they owed
much of their purest happiness to books.Macaulay had wealth and fame, rank and
power,and yet he tells us in his biography that he owed the happiest hours of
his life to books.He says,"If any one would make me the greatest king that ever
lived,with palaces and gardens and fine dinners, and wines and coaches, and
beautiful clothes,and hundreds of servants, on condition that I should not read
books,I would not be a king;I would rather be a poor man in a garret with plenty
of books than a king who didn't love reading. Precious and priceless are the
blessings which the books scatter around our daily paths.
We walk, in imagination, with the noblest spirits,through the most solemn and
charming regions. Without stirring from our firesides we may roam to the most
remote regions of the earth, or soar into realms when Spenser's shapes of
unearthly beauty flock to meet us,where Milton's angels peal in our ears the
choral hymns of Paradise.Science, art, literature, philosophy,—all that man has
thought, all that man has done,—the experience that has been bought with the
sufferings of a hundred generations,—all are garnered up for us in the world of
books.
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